


The Elfy-Wordy Game

by elleorwhatever



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Iambic Pentameter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 19:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleorwhatever/pseuds/elleorwhatever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fluff inspired by Solas liking iambic pentameter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Elfy-Wordy Game

“They’re doing that _thing_ again. That _elfy-wordy_ thing.”

Varric looked behind them where Solas and the Inquisitor were walking. The pair positively reeked of flirtation. Hands ominously close, constantly brushing and shyly flitting away, like adorable limp-eyed baby halla.

He would say something probably dashing and rogueish; she would smile and look down with endearing coquettishness.

“Bluhhhhgghh,” said Sera.

“The _elfy-wordy_ thing you’re looking for is couplets. They’re trading couplets, picking up each other’s rhymes.  In Elvish.  Iambic pentameter.” Varric shuddered. “Just saying that phrase gives me the willies.   _Iambic pentameter_. I hate poetry.”

Solas intoned something with a confident, rhythmic tenor.  The Inquistor answered with a lilting, playful soprano.  He looked at her for a pause and answered with another set of Elvish lines.  She laughed, quickly reciting a reply.

“Something something, your eyes are like stars something your cheeks like a baby’s bottom,” Varric said.

Sera gesticulated in an indecent pantomime of vomiting and, uhh… _other_ actions.

“That’s gross!!  You’re bein’ _gross_!!” She yelled at them.  They ignored her.

“Oh, leave ‘em alone, Buttercup,” Varric said. “Granted, I don’t think even Cassandra has the sweet tooth to stand that amount of sap.  But they’re happy.  D'you know how much of an accomplishment that is these days?”

Sera rolled her eyes. “It’s stupid.  Y'want to peek-a-boo with the sausage, you do it.  But  _words-words-words_ is just wastin time, innit.”

Varric sighed. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

He didn’t feel like fighting about it.  They continued on.  They were walking a packed dirt path through grassy, soft hills, the midday sun a pleasant warmth on their necks.  Storybook weather.  Their leisurely march was punctuated by sing-song lines in Elvish and giggling.  But as the giggling escalated to incapacitating laughter, one particular couplet from Solas stopped the game entirely.

The Inquisitor gasped loudly.

Sera whirled around. “Oooooh, that one tickled her toes!”

Varric looked back at them.  The Inquisitor was quickly turning a lurid pink, staring at Solas.  He looked back at her with a studiously placid expression, only a little kink in his lips revealing any emotion.

Her Inquisitoriliness, the Herald of Andraste stomped past Varric and Sera.  She switched to Common.

“You are not a gentleman, sir!”

“I would be wounded, if that had been my aim in the first place,” Solas called after her.

Varric grinned. “Care to translate?”

“No, I would not care to.”

“C'mon, Chuckles!  I need to brush up on my Elvish!”

“Considering you do not know a single word, you will need more than a brush, Master Tethrys.”

“That’s gonna haunt me, y'know. I’ll be on my deathbed, wondering what Solas said to his ladylove to make her gasp such a maidenly gasp.”

Solas looked at her walking ahead of them with curious mincing steps. “Not for all the gold in the world.”

“Pphhhhhbbbbt!” said Sera. “Stingy.”


End file.
